The Morning Feast Club
by Farinelli
Summary: Why are five teenagers locked in an empty classroom on a Saturday? They are all serving detention; the reasons vary as much as their personalities. Breakfast Club, anyone? ‘R’ for language, drug use, sexual references.
1. Prologue

Dear Professor,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong, since what we did was wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write a foot of parchment telling you why we think we are here. What do you care anyway? You see us as what you want to see us…in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a burnout, a princess, and a criminal. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at the beginning of this morning. We were brainwashed…


	2. Nice to See You

Morning Feast Club

**Summary**

Why are five teenagers locked in an empty classroom on a Saturday? They are all serving detention; the reasons vary as much as their personalities. 'R' for language, drug use, sexual references. I promise there will be _absolutely _no slash, because its really annoying when something gets labeled as a comedy then has nothing but gay sex. No offense meant to those of you who enjoy that sort of thing.

**Disclaimer**

I obviously don't own Harry Potter. Honestly, why is this even necessary? If I had any part in that, I'd be publishing whatever the hell I wanted and automatically making loads of money.

CHAPTER 1

Draco glanced lazily out the window next to his bunk. Far below, a group of quidditch players organized an early morning game, their breath visible in the crisp air. Instantly he longed to join them, and normally would have. After all, it was a Saturday. But today Draco had other plans, ones which he definitely wasn't looking forward to.

He had detention. And since the administration recently started a policy of stricter punishments, he'd been told to serve eight whole hours. On the bright side, it would be under the eye of Snape, and the greasy potions master highly favored Draco, so perhaps there was hope yet.

Unlike his usual manner, Draco sulked into the common room, hoping to escape unnoticed. He would have succeeded, had Pansy Parkinson not been waiting for him.

"Morning Draco," she cooed.

"Hello love. I'd like to stay and chat, but you know...." he tapped the expensive watch which hung from his pale wrist.

"I know you must be busy. A quidditch star like you probably has dates booked straight through next year." She shifted in her chair, trying to look sexy in her green bathrobe.

Oh god, he thought. There's nothing under that bathrobe.

"I just thought I should congratulate you after last night's game. Seekers have such amazingly gentle hands, don't they?" Pansy made a move to stand up, but Draco put up his hand

"Pansy, I can't stay. I'd _really_ like to," he said, glancing at her robe, "but there's someplace I have to be."

She whined in protest.

"What could be so bloody important that you have to go right this minute?" She pulled at his cloak, causing him to stumble a bit.

"Don't be such a twat," he was suddenly angry with her. "Crabbe and Goyle should be down soon; you can shag them instead."

Pansy's face registered shock before contorting in rage. Without another word she stormed off, wrapping herself tightly in the thin piece of cloth.

Draco simply shrugged and moved on. Pansy would be back, and if not, there were twenty other girls who could easily take her place. She hadn't been lying when she complimented him on being an amazing seeker – he'd single-handedly claimed six victories in a row for Slytherin with more surely on the way.

Life is good, he thought, continuing towards the Great Hall.

Harry buckled each individual strap on his boots, taking up as much time as possible. After donning a black cloak and giving his long unruly hair a careless toss, he slumped out. Heads turned when he passed, but he'd long ago learned to ignore them.

Most people could hardly tell anymore that Harry was the same boy who'd been constantly pestered by Voldemort in earlier years. His hair covered the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and the friends he hung out with now hardly considered him exceptional.

Unlike his first five years at Hogwarts, Harry excelled at dealing with struggle, both emotional and physical. His body had also changed, growing muscular and making him very popular with the ladies.

In fact, it was this change that had caused a rift in his strongest friendships. At the end of fifth year he and Hermione began dating secretly, since he'd always found her geekiness to be a turn- on.

They were a great couple and everything, but a jealous Ron found out eventually, ending both the friendship and the sex. Harry still spoke to them, but only in passing.

Upon finally reaching the Great Hall, Harry hardly paused before throwing open the massive doors. Looking slowly around his eyes fell first on Lavender sitting with Draco, chattering happily about who had the cuter cape.

"Conformist dumb shits," he muttered, staring at Draco's sports patch and Lavender's glittering jewelry.

Harry nearly fell over when he saw Hermione sitting quietly at a separate table. What the hell was she doing in detention? Since first year she had been the established brain and goody two shoes, at least until she got mixed up with him.

But instead of joining her, Harry moved to yet another table. With eight hours ahead, he figured it would be best not to start up some old discussion about old problems. God, he thought, remembering how all she did was bitch and moan about everything. At first it had been the usual nagging subjects – homework, sneaking off – but when she'd started picking on his "messy hair," it was the last straw. Harry's wayward mane was his favorite thing about himself, not to mention that it was totally sexy.

Hermione stared over at Harry, hoping he could feeling her eyes boring into his skull. That bastard had the nerve to breeze right by her like he was something special. With his goddamn hair falling all over the place. She only hated it because of how he'd allowed it to grow over the lighting bolt scar. If it hadn't been for that little detail, she would have been turned on by it.

Seeing him agin forced her to think of them and their last night together. They'd been doing....things that couples do, when Ron came into the dorm. The situation was awkward at best, and all Harry did was laugh hysterically.

Ron not only lost his vision for a few hours, but was forever scarred and disheartened. He'd loved Hermione from the beginning and although seeing her naked wasn't so bad, the presence of Harry kind of spoiled the moment.

Thus their infamous threesome broke apart. Harry turned punk, Hermione buried herself deeper still in her studies, and Ron fried his bloody brains with hash.

Speaking of which, hadn't she seen Ron earlier? Most days he spent with the other stoners, sitting in dark corners doing God knows what.

She spotted a pair of pale legs outstretched on a far bench and froze. They looked stiff enough to be dead. Her fears were dispelled a moment later when Harry, oblivious to the corpse, sat down.

"Wadafuck!" Ron yelped in surprise and sat up, dumping Harry onto the floor. "Who the hell...what's going on? Where am I?"

Harry dusted himself off and backed away cautiously. Ron's eyes were bloodshot and stared dangerously in every direction.

"Its okay," Harry said, "its me Ron. Me, Harry."

"'Course it is. I'm stoned, not fucking blind."

"Right," Harry said defensively. "You looked like you might kill me, is all."

"And who says I won't?" Ron stood up, intending to be frightening. Instead he somehow managed to trip over himself and stumble around stupidly.

"Oh how I'd love to see you try...." They raised their fists at the exact moment that Professor McGonagall glided in. Both boys backed down immediately.

"Good morning, students. Please get comfortable in your seats, since they will be your place of residence for the remainder of today."


	3. Getting Settled

CHAPTER 2

She stared

Silence. They all knew it was the reason they were there, but to hear it from a teacher gave the statement such....finality.

Ron simultaneously stood and raised his hand.

"Wait, Professor, I don't think I'm...."

"Being at all considerate," McGonagall finished. "While I am speaking you will remain silent unless instructed otherwise."

Mouth still open, he sat down. Before McGonagall could begin again, Draco's hand raised politely. She sighed resignedly.

"Yes Mr. Malfoy?"

"Professor," he drawled, "I was under the impression that Professor Snape would be supervising today."

"And?" McGonagall watched him expectantly.

"Well..." Draco stammered, "what happened?"

"Why?" she mocked. "Do you not think me capable, Mr. Malfoy?"

McGonagall said this with a smile, but the flame in her eyes warned against friendliness. Draco moved his lips wordlessly in angry protest. Hermione realized that he probably wasn't used to being spoken to so boldly.

"N-No," he finally managed through gritted teeth.

"Hey McGonagall!" Ron shouted as if suddenly remembering something important. "Why am I..."

"Such a twat?" offered Harry. Lavender gasped at his language, yet McGonagall hardly flinched.

"Okay, what's the deal with people finishing all my sentences?" asked Ron. "And incorrectly, I might add." He paused. "No, I was wondering..."

"That will be quite enough from you, Mr. Weasley." Since arriving she had been posted stiffly near the doors, but now she began to pace between their tables.

"From now on there will be no conversation," Lavender gasped once more. "No sleeping," Ron lifted his head and gasped. "No games," Draco stopped twiddling his thumbs and gasped. "No studying," Hermione snapped a book closed and gasped. "And there will be absolutely no _vandalism_." Harry continued to carve shapes in the table before feeling McGonagall's eyes on him. He dropped the knife and gasped.

"Um, Professor?" Lavender raised a meek hand. "What _can_ we do?"

McGonagall smiled wickedly.

"You will write for me one foot of parchment on why you are here and how you plan to avoid returning anytime soon."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. One foot? She would finish that in an hour at most. After a moment of consideration, she thought, shit, that would leave seven hours of no talking, sleeping, games, studying, or vandalism. Gasp!

"That's really fucking long!" protested Ron. And, with a stern cough from McGonagall, he added, "Sorry. That's really fucking long, _Professor._"

"Then perhaps you should get started, Mr. Weasley. If you happen to finish early," Hermione looked up, "sit in absolute silence staring at the ceiling." McGonagall headed for the door. "I have other business to attend to. There are quills and parchment for your use; get to work."

Five pairs of eyes watched her walk slowly away and exit out the back. Four pairs of eyes continued to stare as if expecting McGonagall to reappear at any moment. The slight tap of a wand could be heard on the knob.

"Do you think she's coming back?" asked Lavender.

"I dunno. That was probably a locking charm she just put on the door so we can't get out," Draco said. "I bet she's watching us right now, waiting for one of us to screw up." He glanced over at Ron, had fallen asleep.

"Look, maybe we ought to just write the paper and get it over with," Hermione suggested. "Then McGonagall might have something else for us to do."

"Hermione, think about what you're saying." Harry came and stood behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She shivered at his touch. "We've got the place to ourselves; why not have a little fun? It could be like the old days."

"Please don't touch me," she refused to meet his gaze, remembering how those green eyes could so easily pierce her very soul.

Harry released her immediately. He continued strolling down the rows, apparently unfazed by his ex-girlfriend's cool response. Eventually he came to Lavender and chose to sit directly between her and Draco.

"Jesus, you guys are cute together," Harry said.

"Oh, no…we're not, uh, we're not together." Lavender blushed profusely. Draco stared menacingly.

"Really?" Harry feigned surprise. "Because you have that 'recently fucked' look about you." Lavender's mouth fell open. "Or is that from another fellow?"

"Get lost, Potter," said Draco when he saw Lavender. "You're obviously not wanted here."

Harry shrugged it off, but his gut burned with resentment upon hearing the contempt in Malfoy's voice. Their rivalry had cooled some in recent years, but the deeply rooted hatred would never fade.

Voldemort's embarrassing demise at the hands of a New York cab driver significantly subdued Draco's callous personality, but it also gave him something new to lord over Harry.

He was supposed to be the deliverer. Since arriving at Hogwarts, Harry had been conditioned for the unavoidable battle between good and evil. When the fight was won he had no special role to play; nothing remarkable left to offer. That, and the fact that he had absolutely no claim in the victory.

Sure, Harry could still be considered an above-average wizard, but there were plenty of those at schools across Europe. His life had no significance.

"Have you got shit for brains, Potter?" Draco waved a hand in front of his face. "I asked you a question."

"What is it?" asked Harry, refocusing on the present.

"I _said_, why don't you just kill yourself and save us all some grief?"

Harry smiled at the comment which Draco had made many times before.

"So Draco, how's your mum?" Harry asked as nonchalant as possible.

"How dare you, you slimy bastard…." Draco's face reddened and his fists clenched.

Just as Harry raised a hand to defend himself, a soft meow echoed in the hall outside. Both boys froze and watched as a gray tabby cat sauntered in.

"God dammit." Draco stormed to the opposite corner of the room. The tabby sat stiffly, its yellow eyes watching each student in turn.

Ron had awoken when Harry and Draco first started arguing, and now he stood and walked over to the cat.

"Awe, what a cute little pussy," he said, thumping it heavily on the back. "Are you a boy kitty or a girl kitty?" he said, lifting the tail.

McGonagall transfigured on the table, causing Ron to quickly remove his hands and step backwards.

"Holy shit Professor, I didn't know it was you!" Ron said with a smile.

All three boys snickered while the girls stared in disgust. McGonagall had used that same transfiguration to catch tardy first years. Harry thought perhaps the pot had done caused a bit of memory loss, but Ron's mischievous smirk gave him away.

"That is completely…Mr. Weasley….I never!" At that she stormed out with the same stiff posture, but a tinge of pink crept into her cheeks.

"Finally got to touch a real woman, eh weasel?" teased Draco from across the room. "Well, almost…"

Ron merely laughed, having learned the best way to silence Draco was to ignore him. And it was intended to be funny, after all, so why not laugh?

After five years with no success, Ron dropped the tough guy persona and instead followed the example of his twin brothers. Although his humor was often sarcastic or inapprioate, he never failed to draw a smile.

Draco quieted as expected and Ron returned to his seat.

When he'd stared at the blank parchment for a full ten seconds his mind began to wander. At first he dwelt on all the normal things – sex, drugs, sex, McGonagall. McGonagall? What the fuck?

Ron's head snapped up and he rubbed his eyes vigorously. Had he just been daydreaming about his elderly professor? No, he rationalized, it was the cat. He liked the cat.

Harry stared at his old friend in disbelief. The Ron he once knew would've never had the courage to pull such a risky stunt, unless by accident.

Of course, he couldn't expect Ron's personality to be frozen in time, just as no one could expect that of him. Harry understood how much _he _had changed and how awkward it had to be for Hermione and Ron. But perhaps the alterations weren't so bad – only time could tell.


	4. Watch Yourself

CHAPTER 3

Lavender did her best to ignore the scruffy figure that remained at her side. For five long minutes she succeeded by focusing on everything she _could_ have been doing.

Her friends were surely in Hogsmead already, shelling out countless galleons for the latest fashions. Pavarati had offered to bring her back the robe she'd seen in their Teen Witch catalogue, but Lavender declined. Shopping for an outfit was the best part.

Determined to not dwell on what eluded her, Lavender focused instead on the ragged git sharing her bench.

Harry had never been much of a looker, in her opinion, but he certainly had potential. His thick black hair, reeking of teen angst, could be brushed back and molded into the stuff of Witch Weekly bachelors. With some cheery polo shirts and kakis, he might even be attractive.

But his personality…there was an obstacle to overcome. Some level of bitterness was to be expected after what he'd been through, but his behavior bordered on cruelty.

She stared at his leather clad back and wondered just how many secrets he held inside.

Lavender screwed up her courage and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Psst," she whispered. "Harry."

"Psst, Lavender."

"I was wondering," she began, "why Draco got so mad when you asked about his mother."

Harry laughed. He showed reverence for the situation by pausing to think, since Harry rarely thought about anything.

"Well, it's kind of complicated…." He hesitated and started to turn away.

"Harry, we've got seven and a half hours. It can't possibly take longer than that to explain. At least, not if you use small words."

"No," he sighed, "but you're missing the point. When somebody doesn't want to talk about something they say 'It's a long story,' or 'It's complicated.' See?"

"Oh."

Lavender looked away, knowing that Harry now thought her completely retarded. That's how it usually happened – she would try to make polite conversation and confuse her words or prove herself naïve of some well-known social fact.

She returned to thoughts of shopping in order to avoid making a bigger fool of herself.

Harry saw her dejected stare and quickly replied, "Of course, I haven't got anything better to do, so I may as well tell you."

"You don't have to," she said. "Not if you don't want to." He offered to make her feel better, but it only increased her embarrassment. Lavender hated to be pitied for stupidity.

"No, no, I want to."

By then their voices had risen far above their original whisper and the other three students listened intently.

"For the last time, Potter – leave her alone."

Draco had heard the last part of their conversation and took Lavender's sad expression to mean that she was being picked on.

He stood, robes in an angry flourish, and stormed back to his original seat. Meanwhile, Potter lowered his voice and continued the apparent harassment.

"Did you hear me, shit head? Leave her alone!"

Draco shoved him sideways, away from Lavender, and continued pushing until Potter was forced to stand up.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Potter protested, now backed against a wall. "So fuck off."

"Draco, wait," Lavender finally said. "He wasn't bothering me; we were just talking. I promise he wasn't bothering me."

"What could you possibly have to talk about with this filthy rat?" Draco indicated the Potter, whom he held up by the collar.

Lavender stammered, her eyes once more riveted on the ground.

"I…uh…see, Draco, don't get mad or anything….I just asked about your mother."

Without warning Harry received a direct punch to the jaw. He slumped to the floor while Draco walked calmly to a window, shaking the fist still clenched at his side.

Hermione screamed and rushed to Harry's side. Ron watched a hint of concerning dawning on him.

Hermione knelt beside her injured friend, tears of fear threatening to escape at any moment. She was too distraught to notice Lavender come over. That is, until a manicured hand reached out to brush Harry's face.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Harry!" Lavender cried. "This is all my fault! I'm the worst at keeping secrets!"

Instantly Hermione resented her presence, feeling that Lavender's tears were false, and that she was actually excited by the conflict she had caused.

Harry's eyes fluttered open, ignoring the blonde and turning immediately to the familiar bushy head.

"That kinda hurt," he smiled weakly. "Hey Hermione, do you still hate me?"

"Do I hate you?" she asked, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief. "Of course not!"

"Then what was the deal earlier, when you gave me the cold shoulder?"

"Cold shoulder?"

"Yeah, and why do you keep repeating everything I say?"

"Repeating?" She laughed at Harry's frustration. Lavender shook her head and left, obviously unimpressed with their witty banter.

"So," Harry said, "does this mean that you love me? Because logically if you don't hate me…." He leaned in while she remained kneeling, resulting in a rather awkward moment where Harry was on all fours. He lost his balance upon attempting to kiss Hermione and they both ended up on the floor. She swatted at him playfully.

"Hey, I thought we decided that you love me! Why am I not feelin' the tenderness?"

"Oh, come off it already. We both know there's nothing left between us. And besides," she continued, "you were only ever in it for the sex."

"I resent that," Harry said. "However true it may be."

"Look Harry, I do love you, just not in a sexual way. There's more to us than that – there always has been. We're meant to be friends, not lovers. Remember how much fun we had when you weren't so focused on getting into my pants?"

"I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but that was never longer than two minutes a day."

Both had to laugh at that, which eased Hermione's tension from having to discuss such a fragile topic. Unfortunately, it also pronounced the stabbing pain in Harry's head.

"Dammit," he said.

"What, friends isn't good enough for you?" Hermione asked.

"Nah, the friends thing is great; it's this fucking jaw that's bothering me," he explained. "I oughta kill that bastard Malfoy."

Harry shifted as if to get up, but a combination of pain and Hermione kept him sedate.

Draco had to truly admire that mudblood, Granger. No, he corrected himself, mudblood was a foul term reserved for the worst of wizarding muggle-borns. He'd been trying to use the term less since it became common knowledge that the Dark Lord's father was a muggle. Two extremely powerful wizards with non-magic parents – perhaps there was something to it.

But he digressed.

Granger had to be admired for her total control over Potter. Simply a graceful wave of her hand quieted his rage. Ah, he thought, she just did it again. He plotted a formula as it happened: Potter got worked up… Potter tried to take action…and whoosh, Granger knocked him back with the force of mere words.

He'd just finished observing one such example when Granger stared straight at him. Actually, she stared at his hand, which he realized must have been red from the blow to Potter.

"Wake up, Ron!" Granger called to Weasley. When the redhead didn't move she walked over and slapped his thick skull.

"Fuck it all, why can't you buggers let me sleep?"

"Because I need something. Get up."

Weasley obeyed as Potter had.

Draco suddenly realized how long he'd been staring, fearing that Lavender may have noticed his interest in unpopular people. He then made a conscious effort to look elsewhere, finding a perfect outlet in the windows overlooking the Hogwarts grounds.

Damn. Of course the quittich pitch was on the _other_ side.

He had settled for a view of some large trees when a streak of gray caught his eye.


	5. Wish You Were Here

CHAPTER 4

Minerva McGonagall was appalled at the audacity of Ronald's actions. So appalled that she couldn't bear to walk the campus in human form, knowing how obvious the fury in her cheeks must have been.

Instead she became the tabby, able to go unnoticed in the nearly deserted halls. She strutted off, sniffling slightly, halfway wishing Severus Sanpe was around to mix her up an elixir. This ruddy cold had been bothering her all week.

To think, she too could have been in Hogsmead, enjoying a fire whiskey at the tavern. All the other teachers were surely gathered in a booth at that very moment, happily regaling each other with tales of their best lesson plans.

True, Minerva wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but at least it was better than babysitting those snot-nosed punks.

In fact, there were only two people she know of that enjoyed staying behind to torture students, and one of them was at a conference in Bristol.

She fumed at the thought of Severus enjoying the English countryside before recalling that he wasn't one to appreciate nature. It helped to think of the greasy man confined to a sunless dungeon not unlike his own place inside the school.

Then there was the second person – a dark and deeply disturbed man. His soul lived in the walls themselves, feeding off the fear of wayward children. He lurked in lonely corners and crept through shadows.

Minerva was sure that Argus Filch would have been a loyal follower of Voldemort, had he not been born a squib.

Upon turning a corner she remembered what allowed his omniscience. Mrs. Norris, a cat not much larger than herself, glared maliciously.

"Shoo!" she intended to say, but it came out more like "Meow!"

"Oh my word," she thought. "I'd almost forgotten."

Minerva didn't traditionally prance about in her transfigured form, so it came as a bit of a shock when the other cat didn't obey.

"Meow!" she repeated with more authority.

Mrs. Norris appeared to understand, because she trotted quickly away.

Minerva sighed in relief – even _she_ feared confrontation with Filch – and reached for her wand. Once more she was surprised, first by the absence of her wand, and secondly by wearing no robes in which to keep a wand.

"Well, I'll just transfigure and recall where I last had it…"

She muttered the necessary spell.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, to no avail.

"Goodness me," she thought, "this must be an adverse effect of my illness. No matter – I shall stop off at my office and remedy the situation before returning to the Great Hall."

Mrs. Norris arrived, seemingly from nowhere, with Filch at her heels.

"An' what 'ave you brought us today, Mrs. Norris? Looks like a filthy stray, it does."

Filch's cracked lips curled into a sneer.

"Argus, whatever are you staring at?" Minerva asked, and was horrified beyond description when she heard her own meowing.

The ground's keeper stalked toward her, his evil grin growing ever wider.

From his robes he pulled out what Minerva thought was a small switch. Filch pointed it directly at her.

"A wand? Argus, I thought you were a squib!"

Filch rifled through his pockets and found what he was looking for, apparently, when he triumphantly unfolded a rumpled scrap of parchment.

"I sure am glad you're here, little kitty – I been lookin' for something to practice my curses on. Nobody'll miss you, eh?"

He scanned the parchment, peeking over the top periodically to be sure that his target stayed put.

"Now then….stand back Mrs. Norris…." He raised the wand high and bellowed: "Crux…uh….bile…" Sparks fell lamely from the tip. "Jesus Christ!"

For the next spell he swatted as if at a fly, with about the same result.

"Abra….Kevlar!" After taking a moment to realize that the cat hadn't magically exploded, he turned to Mrs. Norris to vent. "God fucking dammit, Mrs. Norris! None a those bloody books've done a thing! Why am I such a failure, Mrs. Norris?"

Minerva saw what may have been her final opportunity at escape and took it. She sprinted down the hall, hoping to find someone…anyone who might recognize her.

Unfortunately, the first face she saw belonged to an unhappy caretaker.

Immediately she knew that she would not be so lucky a second time. Now Filch would either stare her to death or simply beat her with that joke of a wand.

With Mrs. Norris purring in his right arm, Filch grasped Minerva with his left. All the way to the front doors he pinched the scruff of her neck, and all the way she fought him. But her struggling did no good; with a strong toss she found herself in the grass outside.

"Wait…the grass?"

Minerva was so overjoyed to not be dead that she didn't notice the five students staring at her from above.


	6. Loosen Up

CHAPTER 5

"Wadda mean, 'McGonagall's outside'?"

Ron joined the other four students already peering down.

"It's code for 'the dasies are blooming late this year.' What the fuck do you think I mean, Weasel?" Malfoy asked with contempt. "McGonagall is _out side_."

"Blimey!" exclaimed Ron. "There's a cat out there that looks just like the professor!"

"Oh Ron," Hermione said, sighing, "you really need to cut back on the potions."

"Potions? Whose got potions?" The redhead grew suddenly alert. "Have you got any potions, Harry?"

Lavender appeared confused by their dialogue. Harry was standing nearest her, so she inquired of him:

"Haven't we all got a potions class? What in the world are they going on about?"

Harry looked at her much like he had when she made the earlier social blunder. Lavender, recognizing that she must have said something foolish, withdrew her inquiry. But once more the hurt in her eyes moved Harry to pity.

"Nah, it's an understandable question. The kind of potions Ron takes aren't taught in school." Since her blank stare didn't waver, he continued. "It's like drugs...wait, that's a muggle thing. Let's see... they're mixed special to make you feel good. In an unnatural sort of way."

Lavender gasped.

"Isn't that dangerous? I mean, potions are dangerous to fool with – can't you...can't you get hurt?"

"'Course you can, especially if you use them a lot." he replied. "Just look at how bad they fucked up Ron."

As they were talking, Ron had made his way into a corner where he was now relieving himself unabashedly.

Lavender stood in shock observing him, and Harry couldn't help but laugh at her astonishment. She was innocent as a child, yet it only enhanced her angelic beauty.

Harry shivered and returned to his senses. Lavender was of a different breed than him; two breeds which didn't mix well. No, nothing could ever come of his boyish crush. But he continued to explore her body with his eyes, looking without hope of ever touching.

**O.o..O..o.O**

Hermione instantly realized all the implications of McGonagall strolling about the grounds. If still transfigured, the professor had probably somehow lost her ability to change back. That meant she couldn't get back inside, which meant she couldn't watch them, which meant...

Hermione tried to catch the eye of her ex, but he was staring fixedly at the ditzy blonde.

Jealousy took over for an instant before she paused to think. She and Harry were no longer dating, thus she had no right to be jealous. Besides, he was an asshole. He and Lavender deserved each other.

"Alright, you guys still haven't told me who's got the fucking potions!"

Earlier, just after Malfoy punched Harry, she'd asked Ron if he had anything that could help with their pain, and now he couldn't shut up about potions. Ron was obviously finished in the corner, and now wandered back to the window.

"Hey, is that McGonagall?"

Malfoy walked away in a huff, muttering something about "disgrace to society."

"Christ, I can't believe this is happening," he wined. "I don't even deserve to be here, and I'm sure you haven't exactly earned it either."

Hermione recognized mid-nod that Draco…er, Malfoy was talking to her.

"Um, no, I guess not."

She became aware of his eyes scanning her the moment she looked away. Unsure of what exactly Malfoy was after, Hermione tried to make small talk about classes, quiddich, the weather, boxers or briefs, etc.

After twenty minutes or so, she found herself more at ease, but still questioned his motives. Not only had they hated each other since first year, but she couldn't shake the reputation behind that name: Draco Malfoy – sports king, ladies man, tormentor of geeks.

Geeks. Like herself. Hermione instantly tensed to awaken from the daze caused by his speech. If this sudden friendliness was a new tactic for humiliation, she had to be ready.

It didn't help that he had been the first to openly call her a "mudblood" and tear her down for being intelligent. Malfoy's good marks were earned with his father's gold, so Hermione liked to imagine that his cruelty was actually a jealous cry for help.

But his Slytherin cunning was too strong an influence to ignore in this particular situation; he must want something. Homework copying was the most obvious explanation, yet it was common knowledge that he had already bedded two Ravenclaws for that specific purpose; though many boys found her body desirable, it wasn't Malfoy's typically mold.

While she considered this, Harry continued to eye rape Lavender. And that was the beginning of Hermione's plotting.

**O.o..O..o.O**

Harry ached with desire.

"I'd like to break me off a piece of that…"

"Excuse me?" Lavender spun to face him, eyes flaming.

"Er….I was just thinking about…." he paused, Lavender's stare making him loose focus. "…bread. I'm real hungry, and I was thinking about how much I'd like to break off a piece of bread."

The unexpected outburst made him search for something else with which to pass the time. Malfoy and Hermione chatted earnestly; Harry didn't doubt that he planned to fuck her, and the mere thought turned his stomach sour. Malfoy screwed everything with a big chest that came his way, excepting the drunken romp he was rumored to have had with Blaise in sixth year.

Not that Harry was concerned – Hermione knew perfectly well how to care for herself, and had an arsenal of spells that could "disarm" any assailant, as he had personally experienced during their last fight. Harry was more concerned by Malfoy's cockiness in pursuing her.

Suddenly they stopped talking and a hush fell over the Great Hall. Everyone explored their shoes for something new to say.

"So…anybody know any good jokes?"

"Your mom's a good joke!" Ron giggled at his own originality. "Better still, how about Malfoy's mum? She makes for a pretty good joke, eh Harry?"

"You'd better shut your fucking mouth, Weasly, before I fix it for good!" said Malfoy, no longer concerned with Hermione.

"Draco, please don't hurt him," pleaded Hermione. "He doesn't know what he's saying!"

"That bastard knows goddamn well what he's saying, and I'll make sure he never forgets who he's fucking with!"

Harry felt an unusual twinge of guilt at the way Malfoy reacted, but it quickly melted into amusement at the pink color rising in his pale cheeks. Even Malfoy's hair seemed to redden. Surely smoke would spout from his ears at any moment. Harry couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"And what the fuck is your problem, Potter?" Malfoy spat. "Thinking about your pitiful excuse for a life?"

Hermione, ever the passive mediator, stepped between the two, a hand on each of their chests.

"Could you boys please stop bickering for one minute? Honestly, it hasn't been more than a few hours and already we're dangerously close to having some casualties on our hands."

Shockingly, Malfoy stepped away without even a mutter of complaint.

Again the silence fell on them.

"Still six hours left and we've got nothing left to say," Malfoy drawled as if nothing had happened. "Christ, this is going to be a long day."

"It's 'cause you're all so damn stodgy," explained Ron, thinking the problem an obvious one. They all realized the truth of his statement, given their far-reaching histories.

"No way are we going to drink one of your potions in here, Ronald Weasley, in case you're planning something along those lines." Hermione took on her sternest tone. "McGonagall would expel us for certain."

"So why don't you come up with a better idea?" he retorted. "And make it quick – I'm really starting to come down."

Inspiration struck Harry and he grabbed Lavender, who happened to be standing closest to him, by the hand.

"Come on; all of you – let's go."

"Where are you taking us Potter? Eyeshadow need a touch up?"

"Fucking hilarious, Malfoy. Coming or not?"

Harry was actually relieved when Malfoy shrugged and followed the crowd. He probably resented not leading the pack, but the only thing that mattered was for everyone to join the party. Remaining unseen would be difficult if they separated.

Harry led them away from the Hall and up the shifting stairs.

"If I didn't know any better," Hermione began, "I'd say we were going to Gryffindor tower."

"Not exactly," replied Harry. "We're going to my dorm."

**O.o..O..o.O**

Draco, although surprised by the statement, showed no emotion. Gryffindor was the only tower he hadn't visited a girl in, since they tended to avoid his crowd as much as possible.

It was an extremely short, silent walk after which they stood inside a well-lit passage. Potter didn't even lower his voice while saying the password – "fiddlesticks" – so it was probably changed on a regular basis. The same rule applied in Slytherin, but they never used anything so queer as "fiddlesticks."

"That's why I've never fucked one of them!" he reasoned. "They're all flaming homosexuals!"

Draco would have stuck with this theory were it not for the tension between the former "trio." From what he could gather, Potter and Granger had been fuck buddies and Weasley was jealous. Actually, he'd heard something similar from Lavender, buried in one of her gossip rants.

Lost in his thoughts, Draco nearly forgot to be disgusted by the tower's maroon and gold decor. Everything from the chintz armchairs to hanging banners bore the cheery colors. Of course, Slytherin was done alike, but green and silver were infinitely calmer than fucking maroon and gold. If he had to guess, Draco would say plenty of Gryffindors would readily volunteer to have their dicks tattooed with it.

**O.o..O..o.O**

Harry walked briskly without looking back. He was eager to get what they'd come for.

When the group finally reached the seventh year dorms, he headed straight to his bed and flopped down on it.

"Tell me you didn't drag us all this way so you take a nap," Malfoy said.

Ignoring him, Harry rolled onto his side and felt along the mattress. From a slice in the fabric invisible to unsuspecting eyes he withdrew a plastic bag.

"Oh no," moaned Hermione, "tell me that's not what I think it is."

"Alright – this is not what you think it is," he replied. "Unless you think it's pot, because then I'd be lying."

"What _is_ it?" Lavender's mouth hung open as she examined the bundle of small leaves.

"Marijuana," Hermione said darkly.

"Right. So, what is it?"

"Marijuana is the muggle equivalent of, say, a hyssidmus potion," explained Hermione. "But it's really tough to compare it with anything magical, since it's a naturally grown plant and requires very little preparation."

"Okay. I'm not sure what that means, but okay."

"That shit's for pussies!" Ron protested. "I mean, how good can it be if you were able to sneak it into Hogwarts?"

"Then I guess it should do you just fine, eh Ron?" Harry spat. "Or maybe you're scared it'll be too intense. Personally, I think pussies are pretty intense."

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?"

"Maybe I will!"

The two boys lunged at each other, connecting midair, then falling heavily to the floor. For a moment their bodies were indistinguishably intertwined, save for snatches of red hair and black boots. But then Harry broke away, pinning his lanky opponent with ease. Both were now sporting split lips, not to mention the countless bruises which would develop later.

"Oh my God!" Lavender squealed. "Are you guys okay? Did he hurt you at all? Oh! Your lip is bleeding! Let me help you..."

Ron started to reply, but she rushed over to the Boy Who Lived.

This time Harry neither ignored nor resisted fretting hands. In fact, when he stopped focusing on social standing it actually felt quite good. Better still was the burning glare from Hermione directed into the back of Lavender's skull; nothing thrilled him like girls fighting over him.

**O.o..O..o.O**

Hermione could have gotten angry. Hell, she could have thrown a few punches herself, given the immature behavior of her former best friends. But instead she stepped back, breathing, remembering her own advice given to people in similar situations. She was over them – both of them. Time to move on.

Malfoy had remained amazingly aloof throughout the whole brawl. Hermione drifted slowly towards him, not realizing her direction until they bumped shoulders.

"Watch where you're going, mud..." Malfoy froze midsentence, but Hermione already knew what was coming next, having heard it spewed from his pampered mouth for years. Her expectation turned to shock as Malfoy blushed and stammered: "...um...never mind."

Could it possibly be a joke? At no time did Draco Malfoy withdraw an insult.

"Are you fooling with me Malfoy?"

For a moment he stood sputtering, the redness continuing to creep along his cheeks.

"I'm not...it's just...pretend it never happened, okay? Oh, and sorry for bumping into you."

When he turned away Hermions didn't bother to argue; she was much too confused.


End file.
